


It Wasn't Real

by littlegreyfish



Series: Profound Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell Fic, depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlegreyfish/pseuds/littlegreyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who? Oh, right. Castiel.” Alistair’s black twisted face smiled as he dragged another hot poker down Dean’s other side. “I must admit, you fell for him a lot harder than I thought you would. More entertainment for me.”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t real? Just one of your fabrications?” Dean refused to look at Alistair. Partly out of rage. Partly out of shame that he could feel anything for a creation of Alistair’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Wasn't Real

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a tumblr post where nothing that happens after season 3 was real, and Dean is still in hell.

When Dean’s head hit the pillow, he was grateful. The specter was enough to deal with, and now he doesn’t exactly know where he stands with Sam. Sure, he had been thinking those words. How could he not? But he never would have said them. Not like that. Not with a gun to his brothers face. He still can’t believe he did that. 

His whole life dedicated to keeping Sammy safe, and one spook gets him to turn a gun on him. 

Sleep would be an escape. They would hash out everything in the morning. It had been a long drive, and the pillow was soft for cheap motel standards. 

His thoughts kept him up for a while, of Sam, of Benny. Of Cas. That stupid angel. He could never stay alive. If Dean could just keep him in his grasp. Hold him close. Never let him out of his sight. But it was too late. Cas was stuck in Purgatory, and probably never getting out. 

His thoughts trickled away slowly, and sleep eventually found him. He didn’t sleep easy, tossing and turning in the darkness of slumber. He felt hot, and there was a burning on his left shoulder that he couldn’t seem to shake. He tried his hardest to rest, but the sensation was too much. He felt like he was having another nightmare about hell. He hadn’t had one since… god before the whole leviathan ordeal. 

But a sick feeling in his gut was beginning to form. The heat felt real. The pain was real. The nagging feeling that he should wake up was snaking from his core and into his brain, his mind, telling him to open his eyes, see the truth. 

“Dean!”

A shout from nowhere caused him to crush his eyes closed, to run from the truth. 

“Dean! Wake up, Dean! I have a proposition for you.” 

The voice. He knew that voice. That voice was supposed to be dead. 

“Oh Dean. Did I make that too real for you? I must say, it’s my best torture yet.” Alistair’s voice was all around him now, suffocating him, binding him. 

“You’re dead!” Dean grit out, still refusing to open his eyes, still refusing to accept the reality.

“Well, technically I died a long time ago. You know how the whole demon thing works.” The thick voice was small now, just in Dean’s ear. “Which brings me back to my proposition. Be a good boy and wake up.”

A searing pain down Dean’s left side caused him to shout out, caused him to open his eyes and scream his denial one last futile time. 

“No! I got out! Cas got me out! I can’t be here!” Dean was crying but he didn’t know it yet. 

“Who? Oh, right. Castiel.” Alistair’s black twisted face smiled as he dragged another hot poker down Dean’s other side. “I must admit, you fell for him a lot harder than I thought you would. More entertainment for me.”

“He wasn’t real? Just one of your fabrications?” Dean refused to look at Alistair. Partly out of rage. Partly out of shame that he could feel  _anything_  for a creation of Alistair’s. 

“Oh now, Dean. You remember Castiel. Or perhaps you don’t. That was quite a long time ago. He fought bravely to save you. Something about ‘the will of God’ and all that nonsense.” Alistair pressed the heated poker into the front of Dean’s shins, causing him to cry out once more. “He was strong, I’ll give you that. Even got so far as to lay a hand on you.” The demon’s eyes flicked to Dean’s left shoulder. When he followed the motion, he saw a red, raw handprint. Castiel’s handprint.

“So… He’s…”

“Gone. Dead. He was already on it’s doorstep by the time he got here, all he needed was a push over the edge. I was happy to help.” Alistair chuckled darkly, and picked up what looked like an angel blade for a second, before throwing it back on the tray.

“You bastard.” Dean spit, resisting the urge to scream as Alistair stabbed the hot poker into his abdomen in response. 

“Now, back to my proposition. Are you ready to get off the rack and join the legions of hell? Or is it ten more years for you?” The hot poker was twisted around at the last word. 

Dean thought about it. He really did. If he got off this rack, he would no longer feel pain. He would become a demon, but he wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t feel. Wouldn’t grieve for his brother, for an angel he never got to know but still loves so dearly. The decision was easy, really.

“I’d rather spend the rest of my life on this rack than become a monster like you.” Dean bit out, his voice low from the pain. 

“Very well. At least your angel didn’t die to save an unrighteous man.” Alistair growled as the poker was ripped from Dean’s abdomen and plunged back in at a different angle.

Dean couldn’t help but grin as he spoke. “Yeah well, that angel had a tendency to come back for me, so I’ll be waiting for him when he does.”

* * *

When Castiel awoke, he was alive. 

He had been dead. He was quite certain of that fact. 

Death had even greeted him, as a friend, with a hand outstretched and a sad smile on his face. 

"You have visited me too soon." Death remarked as he grasped the angels hand in his own. It was warmer than he imagined. Castiel had expected the hand of Death to be a cold, uninviting one. But it was the hand of a friend. 

"I tried. I failed. I could not save Dean Winchester." Speaking this out loud in a void empty save for himself and the Oldest didn't take away any of it's weight. 

"Castiel. You are young and naïve." Death did not elaborate before placing a hand on the small of Castiel's back leading him forward. He could not tell where they were going, or if they were even truly moving. He only just realised he didn't know what he was standing on. 

"Death. I do not understand. Why am I here? When angels die, do we not cease to exist?" His older brothers always did chastise him for being overly curious. Even Uriel thought his constant inquisitions were odd. 

Death merely chuckled before responding. "You are wise for your years, young angel. You are special. You could not be allowed to cease to exist, or humanity would fall to ruin. So I snagged you as you were flying by, as a favor to an old friend." The lines around Death's face increased as a nearly invisible smile emerged. 

"My father." 

"Yes. He has big plans for you, you know." Death patted the spot on Castiel's back where his hand rested. 

"I hear he has big plans for many of his creatures. I never thought I would be one of them." Castiel let his gaze drop to his feet, to the unending abyss below them. 

"And that is exactly why he chose you. I was present at your creation. You are unique. You refused to fit into the mold he had created for you, and you drew in bits of the human realm to fill your core. You shall see this in time." Death kept walking forward. 

"But... I am dead. How shall I amount to anything my father had planned for me now?" He was met with a chuckle in response. 

"You know who I am. So you should also know that I can make special exceptions. You must save Dean Winchester from hell. He is the true righteous man. He will save humanity from having to knock at my gates en masse." Death paused in his stride, and Castiel stopped beside him. "You should have died long before you layed a finger on Dean. I was always here to pull you back, but you were late. What does that say about you, hm?" Death truly smiled now. 

"My father sent me on this mission knowing I would die?" For a brief moment, a flare of something unfamiliar ignited in Castiel's chest. He thinks it might be wrath. 

"Knowing you alone would be worthy to return from it." Death corrected. "Not many can survive as you did through hell. You are truly worthy of this task. You are truly worthy of saving Dean Winchester." Death looked the angel in the eye. "Death is turning you away from his gates, Castiel. This does not happen often."

"What if I die again? What if I fail again to save Dean?" 

"You won't."

"But-"

"If I see you at my gates again you will see a torture even hell would envy." Death leveled his gaze on Castiel, and the angel swallowed. "You won't fail. You cannot afford to fail."

"I won't fail. I must save Dean Winchester."

"Good. Now go. We have wasted too much time here, and the years in hell fly by faster than up here. Do as your father commanded. Fulfill your duty." Death lifted his hand from Castiel's back and touched the angel's forehead with two fingers. 

When Castiel awoke, he was alive. 

And he was in hell. 

"That Winchester boy was too right for his own good."

Castiel turned, and saw the demon that had slain him with his own blade. 

"You won't defeat me this time, Alistair. I come backed by Death himself, and I'll see to it that you meet him face to face." Castiel ran, knocking himself into the demon. He was useless without his blade and could only rely on his speed to get him back to it. 

"Cas? Cas!" At first, Castiel didn't know where the voice was coming from, but then he saw. Through the fire and the darkness, on a rack of the hardest metal and bone, the righteous man. 

"Do not fear, Dean Winchester. I am here to take you back." Castiel flew the tray full of torture tools and devices, and quickly found his blade tucked between pokers and pliers. 

"You are a fool for an angel, Castiel, if you think you can break out of here with Dean Winchester." Alistair was behind him, and a thin black knife was piercing his side before he could move away. 

Castiel cried in anguish, but quickly retaliated, turning his blade backwards and managing to nick Alistair before he smoked away. 

"Cas..." Dean's voice again, full of disbelief. Familiarity. Castiel did not understand, but that was a matter for another time. 

"Dean. Do not worry." And Castiel flew to his side just as Alistair was smoking into form next to the rack with the blade held high. "You are a fool of a demon if you think you can defy the will of God."

Castiel plunged his blade into Alistair's back and placed a hand on his head, unraveling his being and smiting him from existence. 

With a pass of his hand, the links binding Dean broke, and Castiel gripped the same spot as before, Dean's left shoulder, looked his charge in the eye, and smiled. 

"Dean Winchester has been saved." 

* * *

 

When Dean crawls out of his grave near Pontiac, Illinois, Castiel is waiting there for him in a tan trench coat and with a smile. 

Before the angel can greet him, Dean pulls him into a tight embrace. 


End file.
